A Bird in Hand
by quicksilver773
Summary: Erik Hays was a man Edward fought and had arrested almost three years ago, and a man who was murdered in prison only recently. Edward is the man Erik's family blames for their beloved son's demise, and the man they plan on using to get their revenge.
1. Confusion

The concrete cellar was anything but silent as Ed slept. Rats scurried in the corners, eying up the new piece of meat that occupied the soft mattress they often slept upon.

They continued about their business, finding the many centipedes and spiders of the room to feast on as they realized what had invaded their sanctuary.

It was a man.

Man hardly ever came down into the dark, damp cellar, and when they did they set out food that hurt, and easily spotted traps that could snap their necks or cut off their tails if they got too close.

So what was this one doing here?

It was not dead. They could smell its life force and hear the blood pounding in its veins.

How long before it was dead? How long before they had a new source of food to scavenge upon, a new way to fill their bellies?

They didn't dare touch him yet. Man was dangerous.

Alive, at least.

Then the man started to stir. The bed creaked and the man made a groaning noise as he tried to stretch out his limbs. Strange, he had only three.

The rats stilled, hiding in their corners, waiting for some cue on what to do.

When Ed woke, it was dark. Pitch blackness surrounded him on all sides.

Ed blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, or spot a speck of light coming in through the window.

But none made itself known.

Did he wake up facing the wall? Ed tried to turn over in his bed, but found not the other half of his soft, warm mattress, but a two foot fall to a concrete floor.

Ed sat up with a jolt, immediately on high alert now that he knew he was not at the hotel room he was sharing with Alphonse.

Ed couldn't take in his surroundings, not without any minimal amount of light, but he could take assessment of himself. There was a shallow pounding behind his eyes and in his temples. His tongue felt puffy and too big for his mouth.

Trying to move his hands proves useless. The now comforting weight of his automail arm was gone, replaced with an empty feeling and sparks of pain across his exposed nerves, while his remaining flesh hand was handcuffed to the bed frame.

His automail leg was still attached, but his connection to it felt uneven, and the leg itself felt much too light.

"Hello?" Is what Ed tried to say, but all that came out was a harsh wheeze that triggered a harsh coughing fit.

Ed tried to drag in deep breaths of the rank air of his now unknown room, but each time the air reached his lungs it was forced back out, painfully as saliva entered and stung harshly.

It was then he heard a noise on the edge of his hearing, just over the sound of his own coughing.

Skittering.

Rats.

Ed sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to hold it in as he pushed himself up onto his low bed, off of the grimy rat-infested floor.

Ed wheezed out great breaths as his willed his eyes to adjust to the light, or lack thereof.

But they didn't.

So, Ed was left listening to the pitter-patter of tiny feet, and the frightened squeaking of their diseased mouths.

Ed moved to the center of the bed, the furthest away from any nibbling teeth, any curious whiskers, but terrified all the same.

Where was he?

Who had done this?

Where was Al?

"Hello?" Ed called out again, softer, but his voice was still a wheeze. Moving investigating fingers to his throat, Edward realized that he was bruised. All around his neck was a ring of discoloration, not that he could see it, but he could feel the pain well enough.

What had happened?

He remembered settling in for the night, saying goodnight to his brother as they climbed into their separate beds, he remembered that he needed to go see Mustang the next day, to hand in a report.

Were they wondering where he was now?

Was it even daytime?

Ed didn't get a chance to even try to figure out the answer as a door near the top of the wall flung open and bright light flooded the room.

Ed tried to shield his eyes, but the chain around his wrist only went so far.

Blinking back tears in his eyes, Ed looked up to see a fat man standing at the top of a steep staircase. A cigarette hung from his mouth as he sneered down at Edward.

Edward didn't make eye contact as he surveyed the man, then made quick work of his surroundings.

Yeah, there were definitely rats. Their droppings littered the floor and brown paw prints wove their way around the floor in a disgusting form of art as their feet tread upon their own waste.

The walls were white, or they were at least supposed to be, but mold was growing up the sides and piling in the corners.

Crates were stacked high in one corner, while Edward's cot sat in the furthest one.

But what was in the center made Edward freeze.

It looked like a stockade.

"You're Ed Elric, right?" The man spoke, his voice rattling from years of smoking. "The Fullmetal Alchemist?"

Edward narrowed his eyes at the man, unsure of whether or not he should lie. But then again, his potential identity might be the only thing keeping him alive.

Or it could mean his death.

The man at the top of the stairs let out an aggravated sigh, and ran a hand through his greasy, thinning hair.

"Look, kid," He began, and for a moment he looked so old and worn down, Ed felt unsure of himself.

"I'm Ed Elric, yes." Edward rasped, still hesitant, and still ready to defend himself in any way that he could.

The old and worn man disappeared, only to be replaced with an odd look.

A look Edward was not comfortable to see on anyone's face.

A look of cold satisfaction.

"That's good." The man said, "That's real good." The man started to descend the stairs. "Well, Ed Elric, you don't know me, but you knew my son. Name's George Hays."

Ed carefully did not let any hint of emotion through. The name sounded familiar, but the sensation of familiarity had no other hint of emotion, no fear, no recognition.

"No, it is a common name, so you wouldn't assume the Hays boy I'm talkin' about, now would you?" The man, George, smiled condescendingly as he made his way over the Ed's cot. "I'm talkin' about Erik Hays, my poor boy. Died this past month, did you know?"

Erik Hays. Ed knew the name.

Erik had been a thief, broke into many houses and stole jewelry, money, anything he thought could be valuable. His winning streak had been high, until he broke into a home while the family was around.

That would end up being the mistake of his life.

The daughter of the family, a little girl named Emily, a girl of hardly nine years old had been home alone while the parents took her brother to the park to meet a friend.

Erik knew she had seen him, and he knew he would be found out if he left any witnesses, any at all.

So, he had killed the poor child.

Her life ended at nine, and with a murder on Erik's growing list of crimes, the Fullmetal Alchemist was called in to catch the murdering thief.

Erik had been sentenced to ten years in prison, but word of what he did had gone around the prison, and soon enough, one of the bigger, stronger inmates found his way to scrawny old Erik.

Erik's life ended at twenty-two that day.

"I heard." Edward said honestly, "Couldn't place the name up til now, though."

George scoffed as he stopped not even a foot away from Ed. Said nothing more, then turned and tried to lay a punch on Edward's face.

Edward had been expecting the blow, and he had ducked down in time to avoid it.

George's cigarette bent in his teeth as the older man growled his annoyance as he reared back and tried again, only to fail once more as Ed ducked to the side.

"You piece of shit!" George growled as he reached out to grab a handful of Ed's long hair.

Al had been telling Ed that he was due for a haircut, and as it turns out, Ed should have listened as George got a good fistful of his split ends.

"Marcus!" George called up the stairs, "Marc, I need your help!"

Ed struggled in George's grip, but he got more and more of Ed's hair in his grip until Ed's scalp was stinging.

"You listen to me." George said, his tone deadly. "You're the reason my boy is dead. And it's you who is going to pay for it."

There were hurried footsteps coming from the ceiling, then there was a much younger man, someone who had to have been around Ed's age thudding down the steep cellar stairs to come stand next to his father.

"Hold him still." George ordered his son, and with a fair amount of struggling, Ed let himself be held down to the cot.

It wasn't like there was much he could do at the moment. He could barely move as it was.

What he could do, was try to negotiate.

"Erik is dead," Edward said. "But how is that my fault? He would've been arrested one way or another, by me or some other soldier or police officer." They were pulling Edward to his feet and dragging him to the center of the room, where to stockade stood tall. "Sooner or later, he would've been sent to prison."

"Sooner or later." George repeated, put his pace did not slow. Ed tried to struggle more in his grip, tried elbowing Marcus in the ribs, but the boy only let out a huff, and otherwise ignored the attack.

It was a struggle on both sides, getting Edward into that stockade. Ed kicked out as hard as he could, screamed and yelled profanities and insults, wriggled in their grasp until George had enough.

An elbow came down to crash against the back of Ed's head.

His vision blacked out for a moment and his ears were ringing.

He could hardly feel his limbs as he was shackled into the stockade, his one hand coming to rest in one hold while his head was fit into another tight hold.

He could feel his feet being tied together with a chain.

Then they took a few steps back to admire their work, and Ed felt like he was about to pass out.

"Undress him." George commanded and Ed snapped back to reality, fighting back against the darkness clouding his vision with pure adrenaline.

But he can't move in his chains, and with a pair of scissors, what is left on Ed is snipped away to pile on the floor, leaving Ed chilled and red-faced as he tries to cross his legs, tries to hide himself from view.

"Go upstairs, Marc." George tells his son, "Tell your mother I've got the boy."

"Yes, sir." Marcus obeys his father easily trotting up the stairs as quick as he could go and slamming the door behind him as his father reaches into one of the crates.

"You see Ed, can I call you Ed?" George doesn't wait for an answer. "Whether or not what Erik did was wrong, and it was, don't you worry, I understand that much, and whether or not he would be arrested sooner or later is not my problem. My problem is that my boy, my first-born son is dead."

Ed heard the snap of a whip, and pain lashed across his back, leaving a long red welt and drawing a cry from Edward's throat.

There was a second lash, and a third, and Ed was panting as blood trickled down his back from the shallow cuts the whip left in his flesh.

"The problem is that it was _you_ that arrested my son, and it was _you_ who sent him to the prison where he died! You sent him to his death, and since I can't get my hands on the son of a bitch who actually killed him, you're the next best target."

Ed grit his teeth as tears of pain started rolling down his face.

Al would notice his absence.

Al would get help.

Ed just had to wait this out.

After the fifteenth lash of the whip, Edward's vision began to blur as he stared down at the puddles of blood collecting on the floor.

Ed just had to wait.


	2. Corrosive

Edward was absolutely exhausted.

The pain that still radiated from his back had changed from sharp and white hot to dull and throbbing, a bone-deep pain. Ed couldn't see the wounds that now covered his previously almost unmarred back, but he knew that they would scar terribly. At least it would match the rest of him now.

The rat bites that now covered his foot and ankle would scar as well, but those hurt more, the pain was fresher and sharper.

He hoped that these rats weren't diseased.

He hoped that he wouldn't get an infection while he was locked down here, that he wouldn't die down here of something so simple, so meaningless.

It had been five days now, or at the very least that's what Ed thought. What was taking everyone so long? Shouldn't someone have found him by now?

He could hear people milling about above him, and Ed reasoned that he was still in the hotel, but try as he might, he couldn't get a single cry for help out past the cloth gag in his mouth.

Every once in a while, every handful of hours the bright overhead lights would shut off and leave Ed in total darkness, and that's when the rats became active.

That's when he could hear their claws skittering over the floor and feel their oily fur brush past him. Feel the air move around him as they sniffed at him, found a patch of unmarred skin and bit down, drawing blood, tasting him-

No. Best not to think about that.

What Ed really used to tell the time, was how often George came down to hurt him.

It was once a day, between the time when the lights came on and when the lights shut off.

Right now it was dark, so Ed closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, but it was too hard to keep them closed, even in the total darkness.

The sharp stinging from his leg paired with the throbbing in his back kept him awake as much as the scuttling sounds the rats made as they moved across the floor and found bugs to eat.

They'd only bitten him so far, leaving little red puncture wounds with each click of their teeth, but how long before they started taking chunks out of his leg?

How long before they started eating him?

Besides the rats, how could he possibly sleep in this position?

He was still shackled into the stockade, and his foot ached from the strain of supporting Ed's body for so long, and what was left of his left leg felt raw from the lack of maintenance and care to the automail.

Maybe if he asked nicely George would oil the joints and massage the stump. Hah.

Light flooded the room, and Edward felt fear crawl up his spine.

George was back for more.

Ed tried his best to put on a mask of boredom, but he knew that some fear and dread would be showing in his dark circled eyes.

Edward felt sweat drip down his face as he listened to each thump of George's footsteps echoing down the stairs and thudding across the concrete floor. Edward could feel his breathing speed up, and his heart begin to race out of his control as the sounds got closer and closer to where Ed was immobilized.

George let out a small chuckle as he surveyed the raw lashes on Ed's back, pressing his fingers to one of the longer wounds and spreading the sides of the cut apart, undoing Ed's body's process of sealing the cut up and letting more bright red blood flow down his sides to add to the drying brown blood on the ground and the flaking streams down Ed's legs.

Ed forced himself to remain quiet as George continued his ministrations on his back. "Bet this hurts like a bitch."

Ed didn't respond as George moved his hand away from Ed's back and walked around him. George was holding a spray bottle in his hand, the label torn off of the bottle, leaving Ed unable to identify its contents.

"Took this from the cleaning lady's cart. Thinks she lost it somewhere, or that maybe a customer took it, but don't worry. I didn't punish her for 'losing' the cleaning supplies I provide her with." George loosened the tip of the spray bottle, and ever so lightly squeezed the handle, letting a few droplets drip down to the floor.

Ed knew what it was the moment the stench assaulted his senses.

Bleach.

Ed felt ice form in his veins as he watched George aim the bottle straight at his face. "Oh, you recognize what this is, then? Good. Saves me an explanation of what I'll be doing."

Ed was trying to scream, protesting into the cloth that pressed down on his tongue, trying to scream to the people upstairs, for help, for rescue, praying to a god he didn't believe in for someone to come bursting in through the basement door, but it was too late.

George was spraying the right side of Edward's face with the corrosive chemical, and the moment it touched Ed's face it began to burn softly.

It was hardly even there, but Ed knew the pain would grow. He knew that if it were to be left to sit and soak into his flesh it would burn away his skin, destroy the tissue of his face, leaving horrible pink scars…

Ed squeezed his eyes shut as the spray came again and again, biting down on the gag to keep his mouth shut tight, trying to hide his eyes and lips from being burned away.

The spray of bleach ceased, but it still dripped down his face, and much to his dismay and horror, Ed felt it trickle into his eye.

Ed rolled his eyes up, trying desperately to keep the horrible substance from his pupil, trying to limit the damage it would do, but already he could feel a tickling sensation on his face and a burning in his eye.

Ed could feel tears welling up in his eyes, trying to flush out the chemical. He could only hope that it worked as he listened to George outright laughing at his efforts.

"Too late for all that, son." George placed his hand on Ed's head and rubbed it like he would a child. "It's been too late for a long time, and one way or another, you won't walk out of here unaffected."

Walk out. Was he saying that he was going to let Ed go at some point?

"It'll only be a matter of time before they find you." George continued on, leaving the bottle of bleach to sit ominously on the floor by Edward as he continued to talk. "Just like you said about poor old Erik, they'll get to me soon enough, and there's not a thing I can do about that, except," He gave Ed a dark look, "Except hurt you as much as I can until then. Get as much revenge for my son as I can before I meet the same fate he did, right?"

Ed didn't answer as tears streamed down his cheeks.

The bleach was starting to burn.

Al sat in the General's office as Roy and his staff poured over papers and hurriedly answered phone calls.

At this point, Edward had been missing for seven days, a whole week, and not a trace of him could be found anywhere in East City.

Waking up to find Edward gone had been strange, but not worrying. Then as minutes passed and turned to hours, and hours turned to a day, Al began to feel scared.

He'd called Roy's office that night, to ask if Ed was still there, but when he received an annoyed answer that Ed had not been by all day, and that by the way, Ed's report was now officially late and he was officially in trouble, Al began to feel sick.

No one at the front desk had seen him leave.

No one had seen Ed all day, and now no one had seen him for a week.

Rumors of all kinds where beginning to float around base and around the town, each worse than the last.

But one stuck out more than any other.

Ed had run off to start a new life.

Al was whole, and the homunculi were gone, but those events would follow them both around forever. Maybe Ed had wanted to start anew, and had left in the dark of night to take on that challenge, to begin again with a new name in a new place.

Al would've let him go, if only he had been able to say good-bye.

But Roy and his team refused to believe that Ed would do that, and insisted that he would be found somewhere, sometime alive and well, if they only looked for him.

And they were looking, scouring everywhere that they thought had a chance of him being there.

The hotel was searched first, top to bottom and the room they were staying in was ripped apart in order to find any clue to his whereabouts, but none was found.

Even the owner of the hotel had joined in the search, letting the team into locked storage rooms, the kitchens, even the attic where he said everything was stored.

He was a nice man, that George.

He'd sat Al down after the search found nothing, gave him a free meal and told him he knew what it was like to lose family, but that he believed that Ed was out there somewhere, and if they only looked hard enough that he would be found.

That had helped quite a bit, knowing that others had faith that Edward would be found, but now that time was passing, that faith seemed to be wavering.

But Al wouldn't give up, and he sure as hell wouldn't let anyone else give up, whether the search continued on for days, or months, even for years, Al would find Edward.

He just had to, he owed his brother that much.

The door to the office opened up, and Roy stepped through, his expression closed off.

"How did it go, sir?" Hawkeye looked up from her desk, not wasting a moment.

"I've spoken with the brass, and due to his previous achievements and his public approval, they've agreed to list Edward as MIA and not AWOL. He won't be hunted as a deserter and we can continue to search for him."

Al smiled, feeling a bit better about the future, but there was something else Mustang had to say.

"However," He continued on, "If we find Edward and for some reason he has deserted, there will be no trial. They'll execute him."

"He didn't run away." Al spoke up, "He wouldn't do that. He… he wouldn't leave us all behind without a word, right?"

Roy's expression was pensive. "I doubt it, but if he did, I'm sure he has his reasons. He never really does anything without a good reason, does he?"

Al nodded as he fought back tears.

It had only been a week, and yet here he was, doing nothing while his big brother was god knows where, with god knows what happening to him.

Al got up and moved to meet Mustang in the middle of the room. "Where next?"

Mustang frowned, but answered anyway, allowing Al to join a search party.

Back in the cellar, Ed felt brave enough to open his eye.

The bleach had dried on his face and it left a horrid burn on his cheek and around his eyelid.

But it only took a moment for Ed to confirm his fears.

He couldn't see through his right eye.

His vision was half-gone, and the eye a clouded mess.

Even if he got out now and flushed out his eye with water it would be too late.

It was gone.


	3. Not soon enough

Ed could remember the pain of being impaled.

Ed could remember the pain of having his limbs amputated by the gate.

Ed could remember the pain of automail surgery and physical therapy.

Now, he could remember these new sensations of pain.

He can now remember how bleach burns and the bubbling sensation of the skin on his face. He can remember what it feels like to have a knife shoved into and through the top of his foot to scrape at the concrete below.

He knows what it feels like to literally have salt rubbed into an open wound, the sizzling feeling as it was poured in, and the dark, burning and popping feeling as it dissolved in his blood.

He can still feel George tightening a noose he slipped around his neck, pulling it until Ed's face turned blue, as he tried to move his head up with the noose, to keep air in his lungs, to try and suck in air only for it to get caught in his throat, never moving to fill his lungs, but…

George was still in the room, which means that today's session is not yet over.

Ed was still breathing raggedly from the almost-hanging, and drool was spilling down his lips and chin to hang down and drip to the floor.

George was rubbing at Ed's bloody, oily, filthy hair again.

"Would you fucking stop?" Ed tried to jerk his head away as he wheezed out the words, but only managed to move it slightly downwards, not removing George's hand at all as it latched onto a handful of his matting hair.

"I just feel bad for you." George said, pulling Ed's head up by his hair, "You've been through a lot, and I haven't even broken out the big guns yet."

Ed groaned as his neck met with the splintering wood of the stockade, but George kept pulling, ripping out a good handful of Ed's hair as the resistance became too much for it to bear.

"But you know, you've been here a while, almost an entire month! Maybe it is time to take things up a notch?"

Ed sneered against the dread forming in his belly. "Take things up from what? There's a knife going through my foot." Ed spat a mouthful of blood from his bitten tongue at George, who gagged at the smell of blood.

The expression on George's face changed from disgusted to something dark and demented.

The man was crazy, well, that in itself was obvious, but something deeper had snapped, maybe it was when Erik died, or even as early as when Erik had first killed.

But right now that didn't really matter to Ed.

What mattered was the cold nausea that shot through Ed as George's next words sank in.

"You know what they say happens in prison?"

"No." Ed breathed out, "No!" Ed yelled when George started fumbling with his belt.

Within a matter of moments, Ed was eye level with George's engorged cock.

"No!" Ed repeated, trying to push back in his bindings, even though he knew full well that it was useless, and that if this is what George really planned on doing, then it was what was going to happen.

"I'll start off easy, don't worry." George promised, reaching out to pinch Ed's nose closed.

"Stop!" Ed pleaded, "Please!" But then Ed had no choice but to open his mouth for air, already his lungs exhausted and not ready to be denied air for any length of time.

But as George shoved his thick cock into Ed's mouth, he prepared to bite down hard, just to be stopped by George's next words.

"Bite me and I'll blind your other eye, kid."

So Ed kept his teeth away from George, and stood limp as he pumped in and out of his mouth.

Ed squeezed his eyes shut as he hit the back of his throat and felt a few tears squeeze out of his non-ruined eye.

"Don't cry." George said, "You'll get snot on me."

But Ed couldn't stop. Tears were flowing down the left side of his face to drip down his chin to the floor. George scoffed, and pulled out of Ed's mouth to stare down at the sobbing alchemist for a moment, just to rear back a hand to slap his across the face, opening up some of the scabbing on Ed's face.

"Disgusting." George said, reaching out to grab Ed by the chin. "Stop. Crying." He ordered, but Ed still couldn't stop the torrent that came pouring down his face.

He hadn't cried down here yet.

A few tears of pain had forced their way out during his torture, but tears of pure misery were coming now as Ed began to give himself up.

Maybe George was wrong.

Maybe no one would find him.

Another slap came, and Ed squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back in an effort to stop.

He gritted his teeth to hold back sobs, and closed his hand in a fist as he let George push himself back into his mouth.

Ed tried to ignore the heavy feeling against his tongue, and tried to not gag at the sour taste in his mouth as George ordered for him to lick and suck.

Not a minute went by before George was pulling out of Ed's mouth, aiming at his face, then with one stroke of his hand he was coming across Ed's face, shooting far enough for it to land in Ed's hair and streak across his closed lips.

George was panting as he put himself away and eying Ed's face. "Lick."

Ed hesitated.

"Do you want to keep your sight?"

Ed clenched his teeth, but darted out his tongue to lick his lips and swallow what his tongue had collected. He gagged once at the horrid taste, so similar to the way old blood smelled, but he did as he was told.

"Good boy." George praised him, patting his head again. "I'll be back tomorrow, and for your sake, I hope you're not a virgin."

As the lights shut off behind George, Ed started to cry once more.

Another failed search.

Roy collapsed into bed, not bothering to cover himself in the soft sheets that blanketed his bed, nor did he bother to change out of his uniform.

It's not like Ed would have a comfortable bed or warm sheets wherever he was being held.

If he was still alive.

He wanted to believe that Ed was alive somewhere, even if it meant that the rumors were true, and he had just up and left.

It was a better option that Ed being buried in an unmarked grave at the edge of the country.

But even if that was the case, Roy owed it to both of the Elric brothers to find that grave and give Edward a proper send-off.

He wanted to believe that Ed was alive, but how does it go? After forty-eight hours, the chances of a missing person begin to dwindle to nothing?

It was too soon after the Promised Day to leave those boys alone.

He should have had them on guard.

Have someone watching them, making sure they were safe.

He had been so sure this time, that he would find Edward.

There was a man who had been wanted for years as a criminal who kidnapped young men, holding them hostage and tormenting them for months before dumping their bodies on the side of roads.

But even after finding the man's hideout, flushing him out and saving each person hidden inside, along with the three corpses he had been ready to dispose of, Ed was nowhere to be found.

It was painful to admit to Al that this case, this case that he had called probable, was a failure.

Yes, people had been saved, and yes, the criminal responsible for it all would now be behind bars, but they still didn't have Ed, and that was the most important part.

As Roy began to fall asleep, all he could do was hope that they found Ed before it was too late.

Ed was starving.

Normally, George would come down once a day when the lights would come on with a glass of this green vegetable and fruit juice with a straw in it for Ed to drink, but the last 'meal' seemed to long ago.

His stomach growled and ached with hunger as Ed stood down in his little cellar.

He was hungry all the time now, with the juice containing almost all the nutrients his body needed, but not enough of it for fat to store on his body.

Ed was losing weight fast, and if he could see his body, he was sure he'd see his ribs clearly. His muscle tone would be fading too, and he wasn't moving at all, so they would probably start to atrophy soon.

How long had he been here? A month? Longer? He'd lost count of the times that the lights turned on and off, how many times George had come down, how many times he'd been struck or cut or burned or-

Ed's thought was cut off as the lights finally, finally? Turned on.

George strode down the staircase with his usual cocky attitude.

"Sorry for being gone so long." George said as he reached the bottom of the stairs, right by where Ed knew the crates were. But he didn't stop, and he didn't hear the rustling and clanging of him digging through the crates, looking for a knife, or a whip or some chain or rope, or anything he normally hurt Ed with.

Ed jumped when he felt George's rough hands on his hips, and he knew it was time for what he had been dreading for days now.

 _I hope you're not a virgin_.

Ed didn't bother crying out at this point.

He knew no one could hear him, and he knew that if he cried out too loudly or too much, the gag would come back.

He hated the gag. It stifled his breathing, if he threw up it he couldn't expel the half-digested drink from his mouth, making him gag and vomit stomach acid.

No. He wouldn't protest. Not anymore.

Then Ed felt something hard press against his ass, and all those plans went flying away.

"Stop! _Stop!_ Ed pleaded with George, "I'm sorry! I didn't know Erik would be killed, _please_!"

But George kept pressing in, no lubrication, no preparation, and Ed felt every centimeter, felt every stretch and pull, felt every _rip and tear_ as George seated himself fully inside of Ed.

Ed could feel something begin to drip down his legs, and even without seeing it he knew it was blood.

"I don't care that you're sorry." George scoffed, "and I don't care that you didn't know. You did know, however, that he would go to prison, and death is always a possibility there, isn't it? You know what else is always a possibility? _This."_

Ed let out a scream as he felt George pull out swiftly just to push back in twice as hard, and to his horror, Ed felt something that felt _good_.

George let out a breathy laugh as he picked up speed and gained a rhythm.

"Stop- _ahh-"_ Ed tried to call for him to stop once more, only for him to brush against that spot again, only to moan out in pleasure even as the pain made itself known again and again.

George was laughing outright again. "Think my Erik told his rapist to stop? Think he did?"

Ed shook his head in his bindings, his mouth hanging open as he breathed raggedly, torn between the mind numbing pain and pleasure. He couldn't be enjoying this.

He couldn't be.

But here he was, getting hard even through the onslaught of pain with each and every one of George's thrusts.

"So you're enjoying this, huh?" George reached out a hand to slap over Ed's ass, then reach around to grab onto his hard cock. "Such a little whore."

Part of Ed's mind revolted against the 'little' comment, but the rest of it was too busy breaking down as he felt himself come undone into George's hand.


	4. Lost and Found

This had to be it.

There was no way that this couldn't be it.

That it couldn't be what they had been waiting for.

For three months, three months, two weeks, and five days they had been waiting for this.

A call had come in on Roy's office phone, and the voice of a young man had drifted through. The voice had been an odd mixture of guilt and fear as he told Roy very quickly, and very quietly that he knew where Edward Elric was.

It couldn't be a prank.

It couldn't be a child playing a cruel game after seeing a missing person ad in the newspaper.

It just couldn't be.

Roy couldn't come back to the office after one more failed rescue mission. He couldn't tell Al that his brother was still missing one more time, that they failed to find him one more time.

But as the military cars came to a stop in a hotel parking lot, Roy felt something inside him break.

It was the hotel where Ed initially disappeared.

How could he be here? They had searched the building top to bottom! Every room, every closet had been checked!

But Roy gave the order to charge anyway. He wouldn't ignore a single possibility, not for anything.

Mustang and his team burst through the front doors of the small hotel, and Roy called out for everyone to stay calm and still.

Military police hurried in after them and apprehended the staff of the hotel along with the family of the owner while Roy made his way over to the owner himself. "Mr. Hays." Roy began, "We have reason to believe that the currently missing Fullmetal Alchemist is being held hostage here. We're going to have to repeat our first search."

"Oh, no need for that." George Hays was far too calm for the situation. His voice was level, but the glint in his eyes was gleeful. "I can lead you right to him."

Part of Roy wanted that to mean that Ed had found his way back home, and was staying in one of the rooms of the hotel, and the tip had been George himself letting him know that Edward was there.

But the rest of Roy was too aware for that as he followed George, his fingers ready to snap and Hawkeye at his side, her gun drawn and the safety off.

George led them down to the basement, and Roy felt his stomach drop as George flipped the top of a crate off, revealing a ladder going down further into the ground.

"This was made to be a storm shelter." George explained as he flicked on a light switch on the wall next to it, a light switch that he had called 'pointless' the last time Roy had been there. "The ladder goes pretty far down, and the concrete floor here is pretty thick. Can't hear anything down there from up here, no sir."

"You go down first." Hawkeye ordered the man, aiming her gun directly at his head as she gave the ladder a quick nod.

"Oh, of course." George smiled, "I have no plans to hurt you or get away, I promise." George laid a hand over his head and grinned before he climbed up into the crate and began his slow decent into the storm shelter.

Hawkeye followed next, and Roy let out a shuddering breath before he too followed down.

The lights down there were horribly bright, but Roy didn't care as George made his way to the center of the filthy room, walking calmly amid the mold and rat droppings until he came to a stop next to a stockade.

Next to Ed.

"Edward…" Hawkeye breathed out, allowing herself a moment of shock before George laid a hand on Ed's back. She pointed her gun at him once more as she yelled.

"Get away from him!"

There was a gunshot, and George was falling to the ground, one hand coming to press against the wound in his shoulder.

Roy knew she was acting out of emotion, something she rarely allowed herself to do, but he didn't blame her as he rushed forward, clicking his fingers and searing the lock on the stockade. It fell away from where it had been hanging for months, and shattered into tiny charred pieces as it hit the floor.

Roy heaved as he lifted the large wooden block from where it held Ed into place and pulled Ed's motionless body from where it half stood, half lay in the wooden bindings.

Roy laid him gently on the ground, yelling over at Hawkeye to go and fetch the paramedics, as he looked over Ed's trembling body in growing horror.

There was a rusty knife going straight through his right foot, and various bruises and cuts trailing up the leg. What remained of Ed's left leg was reddened and swollen while his stomach was covered in scratch marks and scabbed over areas, one as big around as Roy's hand. There was a red and purple bruise that circled around Ed's throat, but his face was what scared Roy the most.

One big pink scar started right above where Ed's right eyebrow should be, and stretched down to his chin.

Oh, but his eye.

His eye was milky white and clouded over as he started at Roy in a mixture of fear and awe.

Ed reached up, sitting up shakily, with his left hand and wrapped it around Roy's neck, burying his face into Roy's shirt and letting out a huge sigh of relief.

After a brief moment of indecision, Roy wrapped his own arms around Ed's small frame and held tight. "It's okay, Ed. I've got you."

The rest of the day was a blur.

Roy had Edward sent to the hospital, and George Hays arrested for many crimes, including abduction, forced imprisonment, assault, and finally rape. It hurt, when Roy got the call detailing everything the doctors found wrong with Ed's body.

What Roy wanted most of all right now was to get back to headquarters, inform Alphonse that his brother had been found, and get both of their asses to the hospital to watch over Ed, but really, this came first.

Roy sat in an interrogation room, across from Hay's wife and youngest son.

He'd already gotten George's motive, willingly from the man himself. Revenge for his dead son, but he did have to check and see if his family were guilty of the same things as the father.

The woman, Julia Hays, sat tall and proud in her hard plastic chair, making direct eye contact with Roy. She was a disturbingly thin woman, all skin and bone with greasy bleached-blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. She sat silently, her mouth pulled tight into a frown and her bony arms crossed over her chest.

The son, Marcus Hays, was also a thin person, but he resembled his father more than his mother. His dark brown hair was clean, and he looked guiltily at the floor, a softer frown pulling down at his freckled cheeks. He couldn't be any older than Ed was.

"You both were aware of George Hays holding Edward Elric captive, correct?" Roy began after switching on the recorder.

"Yes, sir." Marcus hiccuped, lots of silent tears rolling down his face.

Julia scoffed at the question and stared at the one-way mirror.

"You both took part in the torment of Edward Elric?" Roy asked, ready to ask the question over and over again before he got a straight answer.

But to his suprise, Marcus answered easily.

"No, sir." He shook his head. "Pa did most everythin'. I helped him once, to get Edward into the stockade, but after that, no I didn't do anythin'."

"And your mother?"

"I didn't want to touch the little shit." The woman spoke up. "It was enough for me to know he was getting what he deserved from my husband."

"Do you know what all that entailed?" Roy asked her, trying to ignore the dark urge to burn her alive.

"All the pain George could fit in between the day he got the kid down there and the day he was found out." She spat.

"Are you aware of the different types of torments used against Edward Elric?"

"No." Julia said after a moment.

"Do either of you know how someone could have found out about Edward Elric's captivity? We received an anonymous tip earlier this day." Roy said

"It was me." Marcus nearly whispered.

"Marc!" His mother screeched. "Why would you do that?"

"Yes, Marcus, why?" Roy asked, ready to defend the boy from his own mother's wrath.

Marcus was quiet, hunched over himself and looking this way and that, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Because it was wrong." Marcus cried softly. "Pa would send me down to feed Edward if he was too busy, and everything I saw… My brother is dead, and Edward did send him to prison, but I don't blame Ed for what happened to Erik."

Julia was silent, but a look at her face told Roy that it was only because she couldn't find the words to express her outrage.

A knock at the interrogation room door signaled for Roy to take his leave, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be back.

As he stepped out of the room, he addressed the police woman standing at the door. "I want full control of this case." He ordered, "Any detail, and new information is to be brought to me immediately. I want George Hays in a solitary cell and guarded all day and all night. Julia Hays is to be watched carefully, but I want Marcus Hays to be kept in protective custody. Got it?"

The woman didn't look happy to be receiving orders from the military, but she nodded curtly. "Understood." She said. "You've gotten a call from your office. An Alphonse Elric is looking for you."


	5. Reunion

Alphonse sat quietly in Roy's office, tapping his fingers on the armrest n a quick pattern. He'd been waiting here for how many hours now? He didn't know, he didn't want to count. Counting could lead to hope, and hope only came these days to be dashed away by Roy and his team coming back into the office with empty hands and empty apologies. But even now as time ticked by, even now as Al felt every second that went by, every second of every night that he knew that Ed wasn't asleep in the hotel bed next to his, he was getting hopeful.

Hopeful that he would see his brother again.

Hopeful that he would see him again today, maybe.

Just maybe.

But when the clock struck noon and the door to the office swung open slowly just to reveal Mustang, just Mustang and not his team members, Al didn't know if his hope grew or shrunk.

But when Al saw the desolate look on Mustang's face, that little light of hope shriveled up once again, dead for now but when the next tip came, the next rescue mission, it would flare back to life even though Al knew it was pointless to hope, pointless to care at this point. Ed was probably dead and gone now, he wouldn't get to see his brother-

"We've found him." Mustang deadpanned, "Please, come with me, I'll explain on the way, but he's in the hospital right now and…"

Mustang kept on talking, but all Al could hear was the ringing in his ears. They found him.

They'd _found him_.

"Where was he?" Al interrupted, shooting into a standing position from where he sat on the couch, marching up to face Mustang, "How is he?"

Mustang hesitated. "I'll get to where he was, but first, please, come with me. He's injured, and I think he could use the company."

Alphonse was sure there was much that Mustang was leaving unsaid, but he followed him down through the halls of the command center, harboring so many questions, but asking none as they both slid into the backseat of one of the many identical military cars that were scattered not only across the base but across the country as well.

Only once the car was off of the base and the driver in the front was revealed to be Jean Havoc, did Al feel safe to begin his itinerary of questions.

"Where was my brother?" He asked first, looking over at Mustang, who was staring out the side window, his shoulders slumped and the military posture gone.

"Edward was found…" Mustang started, then stopped. He turned to face Al instead of the window and cleared his throat, changing himself from 'Colonel Mustang' to 'Roy.' "Ed was at the hotel run by George Hays." Roy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "There was a storm shelter, underneath the basement, and George- Hays, took us right to Edward. Hays knew that we would find Edward eventually, and was perfectly willing to bring us right to him."

Al was going to be sick. All this time, all this time and Ed was right where they had started.

"What did they do to him?" Al asked, his voice going hoarse.

Roy gave a bone deep, weary sigh. "There's a list. A long, long list. But, there are a few things you need to know before you see him, Alphonse. Hays is going to be in prison for a long time, if not for life for what he has done, keep that in mind, now."

Alphonse was frowning, and he caught Havoc's eye in the rear view mirror. Havoc didn't look away when he realized that he had been caught looking. In his eyes was a strange pity. A pity Al hadn't seen since he first lost his mother. Not since he was one of the little Elric boys who were all alone in the world.

Not since his mother's funeral.

"Al, take a deep breath. I need you to stay calm." Roy said seriously. "Ed is going to need you, he's going to need all the help he can get, and right now most of that help is going to be you and me."

Al jerked his eyes away from Havoc and met Roy's. "What's happened?"

Roy took in a deep breath, and held it for a second, then two, then three before he let it out and hung his head, placing a gloved hand on his forehead.

"Bleach was sprayed on his face and left to sit and burn him, Alphonse, it got in his eye. He's half blind."

Al felt himself shudder.

"There were many implements of torture found in the shelter, everything from a whip to a quite… impressive knife collection, to a large battery and cables. Hays has confessed everything he's done to Edward, and we have it in writing, if you want to see it, but I don't think-"

"I want to see it." Al croaked, feeling tears welling up in his throat. Edward had been held captive for nearly four months and tortured. Blinded.

Havoc grabbed and envelope from the dashboard of the car and handed it back as he drove with one hand, turning the corner to the military hospital.

"If you're going to read it, do it now." Roy said. "We can go in to see your brother when you've finished."

Al glanced up at the humongous hospital and it's many buildings and sectors as he took the envelope.

Did he want to know everything that that man, that seemingly kind man, the man that took him aside, gave him food and told him he knew what it was like to lose family-

Al choked, but pulled out the list.

He had to know.

It took some time for the tears to stop, but the trio went inside the hospital quietly and made their way to the room that Edward had been assigned.

Room 207, the seventh room on the second floor of the main building.

Al froze at the door, and Mustang took over for him then, opening it up and moving in first, followed by Havoc, and finally by Al.

It was an odd sight that greeted them.

Edward was half out of his bed, and wrapped in the arms of a very uncomfortable looking Hawkeye as he shuddered and cried silently.

The rest of Mustang's team were speaking quietly with the currently attending doctor.

"Brother?" Al asked, watching as his quivering shoulders stopped and his head turned to look at him.

Al was positive that he was going to vomit.

Shiny pink scars covered half of Ed's face, and the eye caught in the middle of them was a milky white blur, with streaks of red, broken veins. No tears came from that eye as Ed's only working eye lit up.

He pulled himself out of Hawkeye's arms, who looked like she was torn between relief and suspicion for what Ed was about to do.

Before anyone could move, Ed was throwing himself out of the hospital bed, despite the fact that his hospital gown left nothing to the imagination, and at his brother, who just managed to catch him before Ed's automail leg gave out, and sent the both of them crashing to the floor.

"Edward!" Al cried out, feeling the tears that he had just dried beginning to fall once more. "Oh my god, Ed, I'm so sorry!" Al squeezed tight to his brother, and buried his face into Ed's oily hair. "I'm so sorry." He repeated over and over, until he realized that Edward had said nothing in return.

Al pulled away from Ed, both his shoulders in Al's grasp, and just looked at Edward.

"Brother?" Al asked, but Ed only blinked at him. Saying nothing, not even moving his lips.

"He hasn't said anything since he's been found." Hawkeye said as Ed pushed himself back at Al, forcing him back into a hug. "He's just… hugging people. Well, people he knows, at least. He won't let strangers anywhere near him."

"That's the trauma." The doctor piped up from where he stood on the other side of the room. "Selective mutism. He has the ability to speak, but his brain won't let him. It can become better over time, or it could leave him completely speechless for life. It all depended on the individual person."

Al stood carefully, practically dragging Ed back to his hospital bed, but Ed's hand would not let go of his shirt, and Ed's eyes- Ed's eye wouldn't leave Al.

"What can we do about it? Is there medicine, a treatment?"

"There's therapy and time." The doctor answered, and left it at that.


	6. Glass

Edward blinked his remaining, working eye rapidly as the doctor in front of him turned the bright pocket-light to the damaged side of his face. Ed could still see the bright light, but not with his right eye. Just in the corner of his peripheral vision.

The doctor clicked his tongue and pocketed the light once more.

"No light sensitivity. It's completely blind." The old man met Edward's eye, and the professional expression he was wearing slipped away, just for a moment, giving Edward a glimpse of his pity.

Edward knew that would normally make him furious, but anger was nothing but a small spark in the pit of his stomach.

Edward glanced over to the right of the room, where Al was sitting in a hard plastic chair. His jaw was stiff and Ed could see him trying to hold back.

It was a moment before he spoke. "Then," he paused, trying to find the right words. "Then what do we do?"

The doctor had turned his head to give Al his full attention as he spoke, but after the question was asked he turned his head back to Edward.

"Well, the best option is enucleation. We'd remove the eye and replace it with a prosthesis."

Edward took a tight hold on the sheets of his hospital bed. Remove his eye? Logically, Edward knew that would be the best choice, but, did he really need to lose it? He was already missing two limbs, what more does he have left to lose?

"Remove it?" Alphonse repeated, not in question, but in disbelief. He looked over at his brother, met his eye for just a moment before he averted his gaze.

Ed didn't blame him. He'd caught a glimpse of his reflection the day before in a stainless steel tray one of the nurses had brought in medications on, and it nearly made him sick.

Almost the entire right side of his face was discolored. Parts of the wound had time to heal and scar over, leaving light colored skin in it's wake, partially dotted with a darker tone, while the skin closer to his eye and around his nose remained wet and red. The eyelashes were all gone, and so was most of his eyebrow. The eyelid drooped, and the eye itself was a mess. The pupil was almost white, and none of the golden bronze coloration remained. Bright veins crossed over the entire eye as his body tried to heal, but it wouldn't be able to restore his sight.

Maybe it would be best to remove it. Edward had seen the stares of the medical staff, his friends, his brother.

Edward had been trying to keep that one eye closed, out of sight by those caring for him, but keeping one closed was not a natural thing to do, and sooner or later without realizing it, it would be open and visible to whoever was nearby.

"Would an eye patch not suffice?" Al suggested, trying to find any way to avoid his older brother losing yet another body part.

But, the doctor shot that idea down with a slow shake of his head. "There's a risk of infection, and if the eye remains unused, it would dry out and the socket would become malformed. It's best to just remove it, but in the end it is up to you two to decide."

The doctor had said, 'you two,' but really, the choice didn't fall to his shoulders, did it? Not this time, at least.

Edward looked up again to meet Alphonse's calculating look. His expression was torn. He didn't want Edward to go through another procedure like that, but it wouldn't be right to let him suffer further by denying it.

But, the doctor knew better than to expect an answer right away, and began to move to the door. "I'll be back soon," he said as he opened the door, turning back to address the brothers one more time, "I'll have the proper paperwork for you to consent, or object to the surgery."

Alphonse watched the door click shut behind him, and listened to the doctor's retreating footsteps down the hallway before he turned back to Edward with a weary sigh. What was he supposed to say? Was there anything to say?

"I don't want you to be in any pain." Alphonse started off, his voice a tad broken. "But there really isn't a right choice here to keep you from it."

Edward met his eyes, and Al fought to keep his nausea from his face. It wasn't the way the wound looked that made him feel so ill. It was that it could all have been avoided if he had been more careful. Al got up from his uncomfortable, but familiar seat on the hard plastic chair and sat down next to his brother on the (slightly more) comfortable bed. Edward's hand took a tight hold on the sheets, and closed his bad eye, knowing what was about to come.

Edward was not willing to let just anyone go near his face. The doctor was a bit of an exception. He didn't know the man, not exactly, but he had treated Edward enough times over the years that he felt that he could be trusted.

But who it was that he didn't trust were the many nurses that came into his room and tried to touch the burns around his eye and the bandages on his back and legs.

Having Al change the wrappings was not a perfect solution, but after a couple times under careful watch and instruction by the nurses, Al was left with the responsibility.

Not that he minded, Al was happy to be able to help.

There was a tray that sat next to Ed's bed, a roll of fresh gauze and medical tape carefully organized to the side of a bottle of disinfectant and a tube of burn cream.

Al carefully separated a single cotton swab from a stack, and pored on the disinfectant mixture.

"I know this stings." Alphonse said apologetically, but moved to wipe the pink skin around Ed's eye anyway. "I'll try to make this quick."

Roy found himself passing by the infirmary part of the command center on his walk home that night. Normally, he'd be heading in the other direction, in the direction that did not require walking around the center just to get to the road home, but as he got lost in his thoughts doing the movements to lock up his office at night, he'd come back to his senses right outside the main doors.

Well, he should check in on Edward and Alphonse anyway.

As he passed through the double doors and made for the main desk, he was stopped by his name in a familiar voice.

"General Mustang."

Roy turned to see the short gray-haired doctor that had been tasked with caring for Edward. Roy gave the man a small smile and gave his own hello.

"I'm here to check in with the Elrics, as I'm sure you could assume." Roy kept his voice level, and his face impassive. He should be free to show his emotions openly here in the infirmary, but one never knew who would be watching, and what they would make of any little slip.

Doctor Barnes gave a short nod. "Exactly why I stopped you," he said as he held out a short sheaf of papers, "Take these up to the boys, will you? No need to check in at the nurse's station, not with your rank."

Papers? Roy met Barnes's eyes for a moment, silently getting permission to glance them over. "Enucleation?"

"Removal of the eye." Doctor Barnes clarified with a huff. "Too risky to let his eye stay that way. It'd be best to remove it and replace it with a glass one. The newer ones are nice," Barnes continued on, "With a bit of money, one can even get it custom to match the other."

Roy wasn't really listening at that point, as he thumbed through the pages. A description of the procedure. The recovery. Consent forms.

"I won't keep you any longer." Barnes's voice cut through to Roy, but he had no idea how long he had just zoned out for.

"Yes, thank you." Roy said on autopilot as he made his way up the stairs. His thoughts carried him through the hallway. He knew about burns. Too much about the wounds they caused, be they from his own flames or not. Edward should be in a world of pain, but he had been sitting silently since they had found him, not a sound escaping him in the days he'd been back, not to him, the doctor, or his own brother.

And here he was, about to lose an eye.

Of course, the forms had yet to be signed, but Alphonse would hardly allow the procedure to be skipped, not if it posed such a danger to Edward's already low health.

As Roy's right had was occupied by the medical papers, his right traveled down to press at his own scar. The one that stretched from his back to his front, scorching his skin closed and leaving a permanent reminder of his brush with death at the talons of Lust.

Roy knew Ed was no stranger to scar tissue, with the rings of it on his right shoulder and left thigh, not to mention the faint lines he'd gathered over his search for the Philosopher's Stone, but now Edward had one to rival all those that had come before. One to remind him of his time held captive whenever he saw his reflection.

Roy knew the pain and self-hatred seeing his own had caused over the years. Hopefully Edward would be stronger than him. Hopefully he'd see the scar and feel pride that he'd survived, rather than the cold shame that Roy felt.

All too soon, Roy found himself with a hand on the doorknob, listening to the quiet voice within.

Alphonse was talking quietly to his older brother, but no matter how hard Roy strained to hear it, there was not a second voice.

Edward was still silent.

Roy rapped his knuckles against the wood of the door to give warning to his presence before he pressed in, but he was still greeted with a smile from Al, and a blank look from Ed.

"Good evening, Alphonse," Roy says as he enters the room, returning Al's warm smile, and adding on a polite, "Edward," even though Roy knows that he will not receive a vocal response. It wouldn't be right to act as if Edward wasn't there, whether he was vocal or not.

Alphonse was in the middle of changing the dressings on Edward's wounds, as he was currently wrapping the raw and blistery ring around his wrist, though a new cotton pad was carefully taped down over the large burn on Edward's face, shielding it's somewhat gory testament from view.

"I've brought up some legal forms." Roy announced, laying the papers down on a bare part of the try next to Alphonse. "For the enucleation." Roy added, just to let Al know that he was aware.

The smile slipped from Al's face, but he tied off the bandage before he turned to face Roy.

"It's for the best." Al said dully. "Isn't it? Without it, we'd risk infection, and that could go wrong in any number of ways."

Roy regarded Al with a sigh, and set down a hand onto the boys shoulder. "You're right," he said, but met Edward's one eye. "It's what is best."


	7. Update

I have not updated in a long time, I know.

I've left FFN, and I won't be coming back. The site is outdated, unsafe, and after the recent virus incident, I just don't care for a site that won't lift a finger to stop it until it's already run amuck. I am on AO3, and my fics are still being updated there, and have more chapters, or are in the process of being rewritten.

My penname there is Perfectstorm773, if you're interested.


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